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WAR-BALLADS 

and 

VERSES 



BY 
WILLIAM HATHORN MILLS 



SAN BERNARDINO. CALIFORNIA 

THE BARNUM & FLAGG COMPANY 

1917 

Copyright 






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OCT -4 1917 

©GU47e376 



Of One Heart 

April 20, 1917. 

CIDE by side the banners stood 
^ In the great Cathedral Choir- 
Sign of two nations' common blood, 
Two nations' one desire. 

Side by side, to the breeze unfurled 

'Neath Heaven's canopy, 
The Stars and Stripes of the Western World, 

And the Union Jack, flew free. 

Whether as call or orison. 

They spoke of brotherhood— 
Of hearts that beat in unison. 

Seeking a world-wide Good. 

They prayed, and pray, for Victory; 

Aye, and they call to fight; 
Yes, but the cause is Liberty: 

The fight is for the Right. 



CONTENTS 

Page 

Of One Heart 3 

Names to Conjure With 7 

Caritas Humani Generis 8 

E Pluribus Vnum 10 

Heroes 11 

Bellerophons 12 

En Avant - 13 

They Also Serve 14 

Virtutis Causa 15 

Sea-Dogs 16 

Non-Combatants 1'7 

Noms de Guerre 18 

Irrepressibles - 19 

Runners 20 

Some Keepsake 24 

A Man of War 25 

The Call of the Drum 26 

Off the Breton Coast 28 

In the Bay of Biscay 29 

In the Straits of Otranto 31 

A Ballad of the Grand Fleet 33 

Hail! Canada 34 

Our Dead 35 

NOTE — For details of the facts which suggested the ballads 
contained in this booklet see The Times History of the War; 
The National Review of July, 1917 ; The Illustrated London News 
of June 23, 1917 ; The Graphic of May 26, 1917. 



Names to Conjure With 

SOME songsters sing of maidens* charms, 
Of lovers' trysts on moon-lit shore, 
But when our Country stands in arms, 

What shall we sing but songs of war ? 

In days of old, when Persia's swarms 

Swept westward, spreading death and wrack, 
All that was Hellas sprang to arms. 

And hurled the fell invader back. 

What time the Syrian tyrant sought 
To stamp out Israel's ancient creed. 

The Maccabaean patriots fought 

Till hearths and homes and faith were freed. 

The tales that tell how Switzerland 

Threw off the Austrian tyranny, 
Lit up by names heroic, stand 

Bright on the page of history. 

Ah, words that were as tongues of flame — 
Sempach, Bethhoron, Marathon — 

Are ye but names now ? Has your fame 
Passed into cold oblivion? 



Nay; ye are words still tipped with fire; 

Still are ye as a trumpet-call; 
Ye prompt our cry of righteous ire — 

"To arms! To arms! The Hun must fall' 



Caritas Humani Generis 

THE war-call rings across the sea; 
"To Arms"! the paean cries; 
'Tis Right's demand; 'tis F'reedom's plea; 

'Tis Truth denouncing lies. 
Sons of Columbia, shall their claim 
Find you as freemen but in name? 

What's Freedom's part? To seek our own? 

Is that true liberty? 
Nay; not for its own sake alone 

Is any soul made free; 
Free! — 'tis the children's epithet, 
And that means claims that must be m.et. 

Parents and children, each to each, 

Owe love and sympathy; 
Friendships may end or suffer breach; 

The blood-bond cannot die; 
Mankind are God's great family, 
And woe to them who flout that tie! 

The service of Humanity — 

Of souls by ills beset — 
That's duty in epitome. 

And duty means a debt; 
Debts must be paid; aye, and the call 
Of Charity comes first of all. 

Abou Ben Adhem, as he slept, 

Saw how, in Heaven's purview, 

The second great commandment kept 
Means the first rule kept too; 

"Am I my brother's keeper? I?" — 

That is a Cain's apology. 



Half-dead upon a hill-side road 

A wounded traveller lay; 
Levite and Priest saw him, and strode 

Serenely on their way; 
'Twas left to a Samaritan 
To save from death that wounded man. 

Both Priest and Levite would have pled 

Privilege as their plea; 
They feared defilement — they'd have said — 

Some loss of sanctity; 
With them self-interest came first — ' 

Excuse of all excuses vv^orst. 

"Our Country first", some voices cry; 

If that means, "Motherland 
Has higher claims than family 

Or self", the cry will stand; 
What if it means, "Let the world slide. 
So long as we and ours abide" ? 

Nay; the world's Good, the rule of Right, 

Truth, Honour, Charity — 
These things come first, and they who fight 

For world-wide equity — 
For weaklings by the strong down-trod — 
Fulfil their duty unto God. 

True children these, and not less true 

They who, to serve God's will, 
Under the Red Cross ensign do 

Their work, and witness still, 
As erst the Good Samaritan, 
"God's glory is the good of Man". 

NOTE — "Free" comes from a root which meant "dear". It 
distinguished the children of the family from the household 
slaves. Hence the later sense. 



10 



E Plwibus Vnum 

THUS then we meet the tyrant's threat- 
We of America, 
And, with stern resolution, set 
Our battle in array. 

"Old Glory" stands for Liberty; 

"Old Glory" stands for Right; 
Its Stars and Stripes speak Unity, 

And now its call is "Fight": 

"Fight for your own, but fight not less 
For the world's common good; 

Fight for a rule of righteousness, 
For world-wide brotherhood: 

"Stand, to withstand the insolence 

Of truculent war-lord; 
Strike, to beat down the brute offence 

Of mailed fist and drawn sword: 

"For God, for Honour, for Redress 

Of wrongs and injuries. 
For Little Nations in distress — 

These be your battle-cries". 

We answer to that call and plea, 

And gird us to the fight; 
We will not stand for Tyranny; 

We will not fail the Right. 

Spirit of Lincoln, shape once more 

Our country's destiny. 
And make the issue of her war 

Triumphant victory. 



11 



Heroes 

V, C.'s "for valour" — as we scan 
The tale of deeds that won this glory, 
Our wonder is that any man 

Could do the deeds, could make the story. 

Here, one man does the work of ten. 

With ten men's grit, pluck, self-reliance; 

There, half a company of men 

Sets half a regiment at defiance. 

Stories of Paladin and Knight — 

Tales that we called and reckoned fancies — 
Seem, in the blaze of this new light. 

Not myths, but true-to-life romances. 

Scornful of wounds, of risks, of odds. 

Heroes press on where duty calls them; 

Say, are they men or demigods. 

Whom naught rebuffs, as naught appals them? 

Just men, but men to whom the sense 

Of duty is an inspiration; 
To whom death means the expedience 

Of one man dying for the nation. 

This is the Master's spirit; it 

Made Curtius leap into the chasm; 
A flame, by love and honour lit. 

It is divine enthusiasm. 



12 



Bellerophons 

(Flight Sub-Lient. R. A. J. Warneford, V. C, 
R. N. A,. S.) 

NOT now on land alone or sea 
Does war's grim conflict fare; 
Aircraft have their artillery, 
And battle in mid-air. 

They scout, report the foe's intent, 

Tackle each hostile plane; 
In fact they use the firmament 

As it were land or main. 

On works that shelter submarines 
They drop their compliments; 

They smite the dirty Zeppelins 
That slaughter innocents. 

Little has war now of romance 

Upon the ground below, 
Save when the pipes skirl the Advance, 

Or lance-charge breaks the foe . 

But where, manoeuvering in high air. 

The flying squadrons fight. 
Or airplane duels with airplane, there 

Is glamour of war all right. 

The spirit of the old mariners, 

Who sailed o'er unknown seas — 

Is it in the adventurers 

Who dare such deeds as these ? 



13 

If they — and still Drake's drum is heard — 

With us yet bear their part, 
His spirit, who singed King Philip's beard, 

Warneford, was in your heart. 

You won Victoria's Cross; you won 

More than the prized V. C; 
For Freedom's thanks and benison 

Hallow your memory. 

En Avant! 

AH, France, fair France — never more fair 
Than now when, in your agony, 
You face the Hun; your gallantry 
Is beauty such as Spirits wear. 

We watched you at Verdun, and there, 

As your thinned ranks smote Prussia's pride, 
Saw what you are — ^how fair, and cried, 

"C'est magnifique, et c'est la guerre". 

"The Old Guard dies"— 'twas said of yore — 
"Aye, but surrenders not"; that soul 
Is yours, and, while the ages roll, 

Shall be the glory of your war. 

It never dies — that Gallic mood; 
It was in Amadis, La Pucelle, 
Roland, Bayard; Kelt and Gael 

Bred it in France; it's in the blood. 

Not vain your stand; now comes the Advance; 

The Hun gives way; his doom is nigh; 

Upon him with your chivalry. 
And hurl him headlong! VIVE LA FRANCE! 



14 



"They Also Serve Who Only Stand 
and Waif' 

(Boy J. T. Cornwell, V. C, H. M. S. "Chester".) 

HALL-MARK of the heroic soul, 
And stamp of chivalry, 
"For Valour" stands upon the scroll 
Of the V. C. 

It pictures warriors in the fight, 

In battle's fierce pell-mell, 
Or Reel Cross knights at work, despite 

Bullet and shell. 

Valour — it is a word that speaks 

Of strength, of manhood's crown — 

Strength that beats back offence, and breaks 
Defiance down. 

Yet women have been valorous, for 

True valour is of the heart; 
And one mere lad at Jutland bore 

A hero's part. 

Wounded to death right at the start, 

He yet stuck to his post. 
Waiting for orders; his brave heart 

Recked not the cost. 

. He takes his place among the Three, 

Staunch as their ironclads, 
Who on that day won the V. C. — 
This lad of lads. 



15 

Ah, Sailor Boy, you died, 'tis true, 
But lives thus given live on; 

Your life laid down meant life for you 
Not lost, but won. 



Virtutis Causa 

(Piper D. Laidlaw, V. C, K. 0. S. Borderers) 

LAND of my forbears, how shall I, 
An exile on a foreign strand, 
Tell out your manhood's gallantry: 

Their doughty deeds on sea and land? 

Yet, for at times some news comes thro' 
To these far parts, I can record 

A deed, not less of derring-do 

Than bayonet-charge or stroke of sword. 

The King's Own Scottish Borderers stood 
In act to rush a Prussian trench — 

To rush it thro' a hell that would 
Have made a salamander blench. 

Half-choked by gas, one company 
Wavered a moment as in doubt; 

The pause caught Piper Laidlaw's eye. 

Who promptly straightened matters out. 

Upon the parapet he sprang. 

And, strutting calmly to and fro. 

Made the pipes speak; their music rang 
A slogan to the lads below. 



16 

"The Standard on the Braes of Mar" 

Lifted them, thrilled them, swept them on, 

Till from the avalanche of their war 

The Prussians fled; the trench was won. 

He skirled away their doubt; he skirled 

Them thro' that hell to victory; 
They would have charged across the world 

After his pipes — that company. 

Piper and pipes required repairs, 

Later; the pipes, for all to see, 
Are set in silver; Laidlaw wears 

A cross that labels him V. C. 

Sea-Dogs 

WHAT of our ships— our mig-hty Battle-Fleet? 
What has it done thus far in this world-war? 
Has it made history that shall repeat 

The fame of Gravelines and of Trafalgar? 

The fight off Jutland — aye, a gallant fight — 

And some few tussles in the Northern Sea: — 

That seems its published record. Has its might 
Done nothing else to match its majesty ? 

The shores of Britain and of France kept free 
From trespass of invasion; host on host 

Of fighting men and of artillery 

Sent without loss or hurt from coast to coast: 

Our seas patrolled: blockaded Germany: 

Trade routes protected: U-boats sunk or caught: 

Armed raiders hunted down from sea to sea: — 

At business such as this our Fleet has wrought. 



1'7 

What sort of work has this meant? Work of brain 
Not less than work of heart and hand and eye: 

A vigilance as of watch-dogs: the long strain 
Of ceaseless, tireless, patient energy. 

A burden of responsibility 

Such as no navy ever bare before — 

That is the weight our War-Fleet bears; 'twould try 
The strength of Atlas, and the might of Thor. 

Seamen of Britain, we, whom Britain claims 
As her own children, doff our hats to you; 

And, on the scroll that bears the mighty names 
Of Drake and Nelson, set your record too. 

Non- Com ba tan ts 

NOT warriors only win and wear 
The cross that bears Victoria's name; 
Doctors and chaplains do and dare 

As valiant deeds, and share their fame. 

Aye, in the battle's very heart. 

On ground swept by artillery. 
These sons of peace have borne their part 

With all a warrior's gallantry. 

Each in the order of his work. 
They, in the open, under fire, 

Rescue and help; they never shirk 
Or balk, and never seem to tire. 

It's shortened now by many a gap — 
The roll of the R. A. M. €.; 

It makes no matter; hap what hap. 
They carry on their ministry. 



18 

The Red Cross on our side displayed 

Attracts, too oft, the Prussian's aim; 

By them, ah shame! it has been made 
A blind; yet Britain plays the game. 

And so among- the names, that claim 
Place in the roll of our V. C.'s, 

Are names of heroes, whose high fame 
Is just a tale of ministries. 

Noms De Guerre 

THEY make their own Tanks now — the French; 
Tanks that are quite all right; 
They'll smash thro' wire; they'll rush a trench; 
They'll stand fire, and they'll fight. 

They're immed "Patte de Velours", "Mounette", 

"Maleche", et caet^a; 
E. g., one bears the etiquette 

Ironic — "Pourquoi pas?" 

When Job was living, a war-horse 

Was said to neigh "Ha, Ha"; 
To-day this Gallic Tank, of course, 

Challenges, "Pourquoi pas?" 

While British Tanks are doing their stunt 

By Ypres and Arras, 
Their French mates on the Champagne Front 

Do ditto. Pourquoi pas ? 

French planes and British tumble Fritz 

Headlong du haut en bas; 
French Tanks and British give them fits 

Below. Et pourquoi pas? 



19 

"Patte de Velours"? Well, she, I gness, 
Has claws that are as cats', 

Sheathed, as it were, in velvet; yes; 
But cats are death on rats. 

Ah, Tanks of France, if there were need, 

I'd wish you added mig-ht; 
I v/ish you, as it is, "Good Speed", 

And triumph in the fi|?ht. 

And as for you, whose soubriquet 
Is that grim "Pourquoi pas?", 

I send you, tho* I'm far away, 
A British cheer — "Hurrah!" 



Irrepressibles 

SIX thousand unattached Marins, 
Formed into a brigade, 
Were sent by the French Admiralty 

To bring the Belgians aid. 
Their Brigadier, as well beseemed. 

Was Admiral Ronarc'h: 
A gallant soul, in whom there dwelt 

The spirit of Jeanne d'Arc: 
The fire of Keltic chivalry. 

Of valour quick and stark. 

Just Breton lads, for the most part. 

They were, and under age; 
But all, from Admiral downward, shared 

One goodly heritage. 
For theirs were Breton hearts, and theirs 

The old Breton courage. 



20 

They went to Ghent to bar the way 

Against the Huns' advance; 
They fought at Melle, and there upheld 

The name and fame of France. 
Then Antwerp fell, and they were sent 

Off to Dixmuiden, there 
To hold the town, and guard from breach 

The line of the Yser. 

"Hold on for two days, if you can" — 

The Admiral was told; 
For near a month he stoutly kept 

The Belgian stronghold — 
Kept it against a foe whose force 

Outnumbered his ten-fold. 

What did that mean ? It meant that Krupp 

Guns showered their shot and shell, 
Day after day, on them, and made 

The little town a hell. 
It meant that, horde by horde, the Huns 

Swept onward to the attack, 
And that each furious assault 

Was met, and beaten back. 

All this for near a month; at last, 

Tho' not till Yser's flood, 
Let in, had fortified the line — 

The gap that they made good — 
This band of heroes quit the post. 

Now hallowed by their blood. 

France gave them for their gallantry 

A banner of their own; 
And still, by one battalion 



21 

Guarded, that flag is flown: 
An echo and a memory 

Of Roland's gonfalone. 



Fusiliers Marins, to you 

Naught seemed impossible; 
Whether as militant Marins, 
Or — well, as half-grown-up gamins, 
You're irresistible. 



Runners 

(Pte. J. Miller, V. C, Royal Lancaster Regt. Pte. L. 
E. Mallery, M. M., Tenth Canadian Battalion.) 

JT^IS parlous work, and yet it brings 

1 Naught of the joy of fight. 
Naught of the high romance that erst 

Charmed Paladin and Knight: 
A humbler task, a task that claims 

Courage and caution too: 
Caution not less than courage: wit 

Not less than derring-do — 

That is the runner's work; he must 

Bear messages at need: 
Must cross the open oft, and trust 

His luck will be good spede; 
Yet must he run no needless risks, 

Would fling his life away; 
Upon his errand's issue hang 

The issues of the day. 



22 

"Moro haste", the proverb says, "worse spede" 

He has that warning- pat; 
And yet that eounsel, if the need 

He instant need, falls flat; . 
The venture, he reckons, nmst be made, 

And he lets it ro at that. 

At times it falls to him to bear 

Despatches thro' the ni.uht; 
At times he has to .uet them thro' 

The pell-mell of the flight; 
Be it b^- ni^ht. be it by day. 

It's a ticklish job all right . 

A ticklish job! Ah yes; that's why 

A messaii-e is mostly sent 
Not by one messen.u'er alone; 
Three runners bear it. each on his own. 

To jruard ajiainst accident. 

It fell on a time that a messeng-er 

Was shot on his outward race; 
That meant a battalion's streng'th wiped out 

Ii\ a couple of minutes' space; 
Plans had been changed, and no one knew 

Of the chanj>"e where the thine- took place. 

Private James Miller, called to take 

A niessage. and bring: back 
An instant answer, at anv cost. 

Started, nor loth, nor slack; 
Shot thro' the body at once, he held 

His hand on the gapine wound. 
NVent and returned, brought the reply. 

And fell dead to the ground. 



Better the luck, and not less the pluck, 

Of Lawrence Mallery, 
Who ran the gauntlet not once nor twice, 

And ran it triumphantly; 
For he lived to tell the tale, and see 

The fruit of his ministry. 

Perils by sea, on land, aloft, 

From U-boat, bomb and shell — 

Thro' these our heroes fight their way. 
As it were thro' the Gates of Hell; 

It's all for the sake of Motherland, 

And their Mother loves them well. 

She doesn't forget their fealty — 

The faith that their blood has sealed; 

James Miller's deed claimed the V. C; 

And the medals, won by Mallery, 
Bear, graven upon the shield, 

Legends, as of a Magnificat — 

This, "For Distinguished Conduct": that, 
"For Bravery in the Field". 

Britons, nay all true hearts, are proud 

Of such fine gallantry; 
It gives us back our hopes in man. 

Our faith in his destiny; 
It flashes a vision upon our eyes 
Of an Earth redeemed by self-sacrifice: 

Of a new Humanity. 



24 

Some Keepsake 

(Sergt. R. Downie, V. C, Royal Dublin Fusiliers.) 

' k I 'LL bring you a keepsakfe, wife" — said he — 

A "A trophy of war, from France; 
But it won't be a German's helm, you'll see, 
And it won't be a Uhlan's lance". 

He went to the war, and he fought the Huns, 

And bombed them merrily; 
Was never another of Britain's sons 

A starker Kelt than he. 

It fell on a time, in a fierce attack. 

That the British line was checked; 
Some units wavered, and some fell back. 

And the nlan of assault seemed wrecked. 

But Downie — his officers all were dead — 

To the answer of rousing cheers, 
Sang out: "'Come on, the Dubs", and led 

The charge of his Fusiliers. 

Wounded, he still pressed on: smote down 

In his rush Hun after Hun: 
Captured a quick-firer on his own, 

Nor stayed till the post was won. 

On. leave of absence from the strife, 

He came to his ain countrie, 
And brought the keepsake to his vdfe. 

What was it? 0, the V. C. 



25 

A Man of War 

(Pte. T. A. Jones, V. C, Cheshire Regt.) 

<> t^rODGER" — it hardly seems a name 

1 To claim a place on the scroll of fame; 
'Tis a hero's title, all the same. 
He's Thomas A. Jones officially, 
But "Todger" 's the name that he goes by. 

"If I'm to be killed, well, killed I'll be 
Fighting, not digging a trench" — said he; 
So he sallied forth like an errant knight, 
In search of some venture would mean a fight. 

And first he made for a near-by spot, 
Whence a sniper was shooting shot after shot; 
He got that sniper at the cost 
Of a hole in his helmet — inch high at most. 

A white flag waved next caught his eye, 
And two shots showed that it was a lie; 
He stalked that pair, and got them too; 
And then he pondered what next to do. 

A little farther some dug-outs lay; 

So he quietly strolled to the entrance-way, 

And, meeting an English-speaking Hun, 

Said — as he covered him with his gun — 

"You tell your mates to come along, 

For the Tommies are on them, 5,000 strong". 

When his mates came up, they found that he 
Was herding a goodly company; 
For he'd got just five score Huns and two 
Paraded all, as for a review. 



26 

In a bit of a hollow stood the crowd, 
Corralled, hands up, completely cowed; 
He'd bidden them file out, one by one, 
And drop their arms, and had seen it done; 
He'd collared them — every mother's son. 

His comrades rounded them up, of course. 

But his was the all-compelling force; 

His stark audacity, his stern voice. 

The bombs that he grasped — all fixed their choice. 

On leave of absence from the fray, 

He came back home for a holiday; 

Foe never saw his back, but he 

Showed it to friends, and that shamelessly; 

For Runcorn town was all out to si*eet 

Its hero with acclamations meet; 

But he just scuttled down a side street. 

Nor stayed his flight till he had won 

By backways home, and burst in u^on 

His parents — a bashful, and breathless son. 

The Call of the Drum 

(Drummer W. Ritchie, V. C, Seaforth Highlanders.) 

HE is — his portrait seems to show — 
A lad, or little more; 
Yet by his garb and drum we know 
Him for a man of war. 

What could he do that he should wear 

Victoria's Cross to-day — 
The Cross that falls to a picked few 
For deeds of lordliest derring-do. 

Done in the heart of the fray? 



27 

Ah, well — we think of a stripling pair, 

Jakin and Lew by name, 
Thro' whom the "Fore and Aft" put off 

That soubriquet of shame, 
And became once more the "Fore and Fit" — 

Title of well-earned fame. 

His officers, in the storm and stress 

Of a hotly pressed attack, 
Had fallen, and units, leaderless, 

Or faltered, or held back. 

Ritchie — the thought was all his own — 

Sprang to a Hun trench-mound, 
And standing there, erect, alone, 
Beat, and re-beat, the "Charge"; not one 
Of the British hearts in that battle-zone, 
But leapt to the magic sound. 

Above the roar of bombs and guns, 

Rang from the parapet 
That haughty challenge; and all the Huns 
Fell back, as the wave of old Scotland's sons 

Swept on with the bayonet. 

The trench was carried; this business done 

To his mind, he was content 
To carry messages to and fro, ^ 

Wherever his duty bade him go 

Thro' the hell, till the day was spent. 

That's why he wears Victoria's Cross — 

This lad, and is worthy o't; 
Our admiration is half amaze 
To think that he lived to wear his bays; 

But he did. 'Tis a bonny Scot! 



28 



Off the Breton Coast 

AS the Huns' submarine canipaign 
Went on its gruesome way, 
A U-boat Captain sought to claim 
Place in Gehenna's roll of fame 
By sinking fisher-boats — a game 
Easy to win as play. 

He hung about their fishing ground, 

And sank them one by one; 
The boats were lost; the crews were drowned; 
Thus he fulfilled his daily round, 
His role, of infamies, and found 

Work worthy of a Hun. 

And so this monster of the deep 

Wrought havoc day by day, 
Until the Hyacinthe-Yvonne, 
A coaster from les Sables d'Olonne, 

Cut short his game for aye. 

Not a big boat, not iron-clad, 

Was Hyacinthe-Yvonne; 
Yes, but she bore a useful gun — 
A gun that pumped shells on the Hun, 

And was his doom anon. 

'Twas a grim fight; the coaster's crew 
One moment held their breath; 

For, firing hard, the submarine 

Shot her beneath the water-line, 
And wounded her to death. 



29 

Thev didn't stop for that; they fired 
A shell that turned the day; 

It dealt the U-boat, just below 

Her conning tower, a fatal blow; 

She tried to dive, but failed, and so 
Just stuck, perforce, half-way. 

Then, as she hung, stern up in air, 

Bows under sea, her hull 
Served as a target for French shells, 

And got them fair and full. 

Five minutes settled her hash; what of 

The Hyacinthe-Yvonne ? 
0, she sank too, but not till she 
Had seen the Huns' catastrophe; 
And all her gallant company 

Were saved — aye, everyone. 

So perish all the miscreants 

Who play the pirate's game! 
Theirs be the murderer's short shrift, 
The murderer's doom no plea may lift, 
Aye, and his deathless shame! 



T 



In the Bay of Biscay 

A 

HE fishers of I'lle-d'Yeu— old men 
All, and infirm— the stark 
And young were fighting in the fray- 
Saw signals of distress one day, 
Hoist by a freighter in the Bay; 
They manned the life-boat right-away. 
And made sail for the barque. 



30 

Torpedoed by a Hun U-boat 

The ship was all awash; 
The life-boat reached her, and anon 
Took off the seven — the rest were prpne — 

Who had survived the' crash. 

They turned and headed for the shore — 

This little company; 
Ah, but the wind was now a gale — 
A gale they fought without avail — 
That tore away their mizzen sail, 

And swept them out to sea. 



Two days and nights, with never a sup 

Of water or a bite, 
They battled against wind and wave, 
And, facing aye a watery grave, 
Did all that stout old hearts and brave 

Might do in parlous plight. 

On the third day at last^they made 

The shore of Finistere; 
But only eight were left to tell 

This tale of grit and dare — 
This story how a dozen old men 

Stuck it, and bluffed despair. 

What was she after — this Norse barque, 

That lies beneath the main? 
All innocent of guile or war. 
From neutral shore to neutral shore, 
A neutral ship, she simply bore 
Food for the folk of Spain. 



31 

Dark lies the shadow of that crime 

Upon the coward Hun; 
Yes, but perhaps it makes more bright, 
More splendid to our watching sight, 

The fame those heroes won. 

I think that, when le Role d'Honneur 

Is brought up, le bon Dieu 
Will rank — because they died to save. 
Or dared for others' sake the grave — 
Among the bravest of the brave 
The Old Men of I'lle-d'Yeu. 



In the Straits of Otranto 

(A Ballad of the French Fleet.) 

AS it fell out, in the world-war. 
An Austrian submarine 
Torpedoed, in the full moonlight, 
A ship, Ldon Gambetta hight. 
That off Cape Leuca watched that night 
The French blockading line. 

Upon the cruiser's bridge there stood 

Captain and Admiral; 
They couldn't — the dynamo was wrecked — 

Send out a wireless call; 
The lights went out; the engines stopped; 
And the great ship heeled, and her port side dropped, 

As a boat before a squall. 



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What did they do ? Their one thought was 

For the ship's company; 
The Captain set himself to make 

The ship ride evenly; 
The Admiral shouted to the men," 

And his voice rang cheerily. 



"Steady, my children! To the boats!" 
He cried; "They are for you; 

Nous autres, nous restons!" — so he saw 

His duty — saw it as a law 
Of honour — and did it too. 



Many were left, for boats were few; 

Ah well, their countenance 
Changed not; "Courage!", they cheered — the cry 
Rose as a paean — "We shall die 

Together! Vive la France!" 

Not seven score of the cruiser's men 

Were saved to fight again; 
Five times as many loyal hearts 

Went down beneath the main; 
Officers, one and all of them, 

Were numbered with the slain. 

Senes and Andre, Admiral 

And Captain, aye, and ye — 
Or officers or men — who faced 

That grim catastrophe. 
Nor flinched, truly ye were, and are, 

A valiant company. 



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To France your lives were consecrate; 

For France ye laid them down; 
The heroes of the Birkenhead 

Share with you their renown; 
Aye, and amid the gallant dead, 

Ye wear the patriots' crown. 



A Ballad of the Grand Fleet 

(Com. Loftus W. Jones, V. C, R. N.) 



T^HE heart of the old balladist 
1 For Witherington was woe, 
Who, when his legs were hewn in twain, 
Upon his knee still fought amain. 
Nor yielded to the foe. 

And what but woe can our hearts be, 

A-thinking of his death, 
Who, as he fought in Jutland Bay, 
Fought on with one leg shot away. 
And cheered his men to their last fray. 

And his, with dying breath ? 

Full half his company were slain; 

His ship was sinking fast; 
Propped up by his last gun, he helped 

To serve it to the last; 
It was a grim five minutes — that — 

An agony as it passed. 



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His ship went down, and with her went 

Her Captain and her crew; 
But, 'ere the waves closed o'er the Shark, 
Her last torpedo found its mark, 

And a Hun ship sank too; 

Ah, gallant Jones, it seemed to you, 

And yours, a simple thing 
To do your duty, and to die 

For 'Country and for King. 

The world has need of such true souls, 
Wherever they have their birth; 

They are the soul of chivalry, 

Aye, and the very salt, perdie. 
And leaven of the earth. 

Our heart is woe for British tars 

O'er whom the Atlantic rolls; 
Yes, but it's also proud to know — 
Proud, aye, and thankful too, I trow, — 
That Britain breeds such souls. 



Hail! Canada 

Strong and sweet as the Maple-tree: 
That's what your emblem bids you be — 
The leaf that figures your quality: 

Sweet with the sv/eetness of loyalty, 
Of honour, of sincerity. 
Of cheerful generosity: 



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Strong with the strength of constancy, 
Of pluck, of patience, of energy, 
Of grit that defies adversity: 

That's what your emblem bids you be. 
How have you answered its call and plea ? 
By deeds of chivalrous gallantry. 

In the great fight for liberty, 

All the Dominions valiantly 

Stood by their Mother, the Old Countree. 

Aye, but when, as she stood at bay, 
She called her children to the affray, 
Who but Canada led the way ? 

Sweet and strong as the Maple-tree: 
That's what your emblem bids you be; 
Aye, and it's what you are, perdie. 

AUTHOR'S NOTE— As I cannot find any symbolic meaning 
attached to the Maple-leaf of Canada, I have had to invent one — 
"Sweetness and Strength". The Oak-leaf, as representing the 
Oak-tree, symbolizes Strength. Why, then, should not the Maple- 
leaf figure the characteristics of its parent tree — one of the 
strongest of trees, and the source of Maple-sugar? 



Our Dead 

WHAT shall we say of those who gave 
Their lives at Britain's claim, 
Nor held them dear so they might save 
Their Motherland's fair fame: 



V 



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Who fougrht and fell for kith and kin, 

For Freedom and the Ri^ht; 
To whom disloyalty was sin, 

And Justice more than Might? 

From the Homeland and from afar, 

Across the seas, they came; 
The blood-bond drew them to the war — 

That, and the British name. 

Now, of the hearts that beat so high. 

Many are stilled for aye; 
And lives that seemed too young to die. 

Too dear, have passed away. 

Shall we deplore them? Hearts are rent, 
And weeping- were no shame; 

Nay, they are lift above lament; 
Paean, not dirge, they claim. 

As Hellas in the olden days 

Bent o'er her gallant dead, 
And gave them — not her tears, but — praise, 

We dry our tears, half shed; 

And with the thanks, the grateful praise, 

Of those he died to save, 
We lay a wreath of deathless bays 

Upon each hero's grave. 



LIBRARY 




